Nice Haircut!

My three-month-old son's newborn hair continues to fall out a few fine strands at a time. A soft downy fuzz is all that's left underneath. Hopefully, within a few months, that short fuzz will sprout into thick a head of baby hair. That will mean only one thing: baby's first haircut. He won't like it. Not one bit. I don't think any babies like getting their haircut. Which means we have something in common. I don't like getting my haircut either.

I've probably had my haircut nearly 300 times in my life. Wow, that's a lot of time sitting still in one of those vinyl chairs. I've probably had my seat cranked like seventeen miles up in the air. Despite all that experience and added height, haircuts still stress me out.

First of all, finding a barber who understands the shape of my head and is brave enough to tackle my wiry hair is the hardest part. Once I've found someone worthy of that trust, I stay pretty loyal. In fact, I've only ever had three people in my life that I've trusted with my hair. Okay, maybe it's not loyalty so much as avoidance of hassle. You see, the first time I sit in any barber's chair I have to put up with all the obnoxious comments and questions about my hair. You'd think barbers that want my business -- or at least a decent tip -- would be a bit more diplomatic. But I know that once they get it out of their system, I won't ever have to hear it again. This is why if they do a half-decent job I'll go back to them again and again.

This isn't to say that only three people have ever cut my hair. I've experimented with a few others over time. This was usually a circumstance of being away from home and in desperate need of a trim. My most unusual experience was getting my hair cut by a guy covered in tattoos and poked full of holes. This made really me nervous. I know it shouldn't have. I wasn't afraid he'd do a bad job. But if he had so few qualms about mutilating his own body, should I have trusted him with scissors?

The other thing that gets me worked up is that big silly bib. Do they have to put it on so tightly around my neck? And how many other people's hair and dandruff is all over those things? And once it's on, where am I supposed to put my hands? Do I have to leave them on the armrests and keep them visible? If I fold my hands in my lap under the bib, will people assume I'm playing with myself under there?

I hate watching my hair as it gets cut. As the barber shortens up the one side of my head first, I always wonder what would happen is the fire alarm went off at that very moment. Would I have to run out onto the street wearing that bib with my hair short on one side and long on the other? What if it's a real fire and the place is burning to the ground? (That jar full of combs soaking in alcohol would surely be an accelerant in such a blaze.) Then, would my barber finish my haircut on the street, or would I be left for days with an uneven coif?

If I'm lucky enough to make it all the way through without a fire alarm, why is it that when the barber finishes, it looks like nothing changed? Then when I get home and look in the mirror, I'm shocked by the dramatic alteration to my looks. I guess it's like watching yourself gain weight. It happens gradually enough that you don't notice it until you look at a picture of yourself from college when you were thinner (and had a better haircut).

Once I'm home from my haircut, the first thing I have to do is get in the shower. I just can't stand that itchy feeling around my neck, down my back and in my nevermind. Whoever thought that tiny little brush with a wooden handle would sweep away all the excess hair? I once went to a barber where they vacuumed the hair off! That hickey left me with some awkward explaining to do.

Of course, in that first post-haircut shower I always use way too much shampoo. Over the past month, as my hair had been growing longer and longer, I would have been gradually amplifying the amount of shampoo per shower. Now, with a shorter do, I'm left with handfuls of wasteful lather! It usually takes me a week to get back to an acceptable shampoo-hair equilibrium.

Getting out of the shower, I can never get my hair back the way I want it. I'm never totally satisfied with my haircuts. For me, the sign of a really good haircut, is one that draws the fewest comments. Because what I hate most about getting my ears lowered are the comments I must endure the next day.

"Oh, you got your haircut!"
"Hey, look, a haircut!"
"Gee, did you get your haircut?"

As if I hadn't noticed that I got my hair cut. Like I didn't sit there for 30 minutes making mindless small talk while watching the guy do it. Yes, I paid for it and everything. I even left a tip, albeit not a very good one. Hey, I was out of singles and no way I'm leaving a five spot.

But then again, if people aren't making any comments, is that because it looks terrible and they're just being polite by not saying anything?

So when my son gets into the barber's chair for the very first time and starts crying, I'll understand why.